


Real Christmas

by lord_is_it_mine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Femslash, Boys Kissing, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Christmas fic, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Merry Christmas!, Mistletoe, One Shot, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lord_is_it_mine/pseuds/lord_is_it_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My spn Christmas fic for 2013. Set during season nine. Everything is the same except Sam is ay okay, Gadreel doesn't exist and Kevin is alive and kicking. Destiel and side Charlie/Dorothy uwu. Major fluff and holiday cheer and boys kissing and girls kissing (moslty because love but also because mistletoe). Also some language. Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to all of you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Christmas

“I think we should have Christmas this year.”

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d be dousing Sam in holy water right now. They’re sitting in the library at an unholy hour (like four AM unholy), looking for a job because they just finished one (nasty vamp coven in central Ohio) and Dean is itching to keep killing things as fast as he can; it’s the twenty-third, not a word has been said about it, and suddenly Sam wants to have Christmas.

“ _What?_ ”

“I think we should have Christmas this year.”

It’s not like Sam says this every time December rolls around. They do Christmas. They drink hard eggnog and eat take out and watch hockey or something. They give each other skin mags and stupid cheap souvenirs from gas n’ sip.  The last time they did anything more than that was the Christmas before hell, when Sam got the tree out of ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ and decked it out with air fresheners. Although now that he thinks about it, Dean can’t actually remember ever trading gifts or even saying as much as a ‘happy holidays’ to Sam in the years since then. After hell was the apocalypse. Then Eve, followed by Leviathans, and then Purgatory (he completely missed _that_ holiday season) and last Christmas they had all of heaven and hell to deal with. But now, after complete silence from Sam on the subject for like five years, he’s suddenly all merry. Dean sighs. Things were so much simpler before he sold his soul.

“Yeah, I heard you, smartass, but since when do you care about the holidays?”

“Well think about it Dean, when’s the last time we even acknowledged it? I figured since we’re sort of settled in one place now- it’s our first Christmas in the bunker, you know? I finally feel like we have a home. Not to mention the fact that our friends are around, we could, I don’t know, do _something_.”

“Yeah, okay, so we do Christmas.” Dean agrees, with every intention of half-assing it to the moon and back.

Sam whips out the beloved bitch-face and clarifies:

“I don’t mean _your_ Christmas. I mean _real_ Christmas. A tree. A turkey. Tinsel. Actual wrapped presents. Everything.”

“ _Fine_.”

“Dude, do you have a problem with Christmas now or something?”

“No, well not exactly, I- I guess I just don’t really see the point.”

“Uh, why not?”

“One word, Sammy: Consumerism.”

Cue bitch-face number two.

“Fine, okay, okay. The truth? Christmas is so hypocritical- I mean, everyone sits around with their ‘perfect’ families and their ‘perfect’ smiles and pretends to be generous and happy when really they’re greedy and _miserable_. We see the worst of everything and you want me to pretend like it’s all hunky-dory? Yeah. Uh. No.”

“But Dean, things are actually going good right now, I thought you’d want to be with your family, you know, try to have fun even though that stick is obviously really far up your-”

Sam is doing that puppy-eyed insult and guilt trip thing he used to do when they were kids, and Dean really can’t say no to that. Not then, and apparently not now.

“Yeah okay alright _._ We’ll have _your_ Christmas. Just _shut **up**_.” He concedes, picking up his coffee and mumbling curses to himself “family my ass, Christmas is about _getting_ shit-”

“Actually it’s the celebration of the Messianic birth.”

Cas saunters into the room ( _how did he even hear what I said?_ wonders Dean) obviously fresh out of the shower, in his pajamas with a towel draped over his shoulders. Dean stares for admittedly way longer than he needs to because _one_ : he’s still not used to seeing Cas in sweat pants and t-shirts, _two_ : because he looks strangely good now that he’s gotten rid of the suit and tie and _three_ : because his hair is still damp, messed up and probably really soft, and Dean has stopped denying himself the fantasy of digging his fingers into it and pulling Cas right up close and-

“Of course, the date is inaccurate- December twenty fifth is in coalition with pagan rituals. I don’t remember exactly when, because it was two thousand years ago and my mind isn’t what it used to be- but I believe it was closer to the end of April when the host was sent to the fields outside Bethlehem to tell the shepherds of the Lord’s coming.” He looks lost in memory, and it never fails to annoy Dean, how easy it is for him to forget that when something big happened in ancient times, Cas was probably _there_.

“You were a heavenly choir boy?” He laughs. _There’s_ an entertaining image.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. I was a warrior, remember? There wasn’t much need for warriors during such an uplifting time. There were many celebrations in heaven, even before the birth of Christ- the angels had been preparing for it since God sent Gabriel to announce to the Virgin Mary that she’d been chosen to carry his child.”

Dean doubles over this time, because there are about a million and one ways that he can imagine that conversation, and all of them are incredibly funny, holy _shit_.

“So, you’ve been to your share of Christmas parties I guess then, huh Cas?” Sam wonders, apparently intent on getting the former angel on board with this whole ‘ _we’re having a real Christmas_ ’ idea. Then Dean _really_ won’t be able to back out of his ‘okay fine’.

“Actually, it was less of a party and more of a period of joyous worship. The birth of someone so important was cause for much praise. In fact, times like that have happened since as well, more so in recent history, and with much more ‘partying’.”

“What, like when the pope was chosen?” Dean chuckles, peeling himself off the floor from his previous fit of laughter.

Cas ignores Dean’s joke (or more likely doesn’t get it) - he just looks at him dead in the eye and replies:

“ _Dean Winchester is saved_.”

And that shuts Dean right up.

“Well, if we’re going to have an actual Christmas, we’re gonna need a few things.” Sam changes the subject, his laptop keys clacking as he and (a suddenly enthusiastic) Cas get to work on a list...

* * *

...Which is how Dean ends up here, in the forest outside the bunker, dragging his feet while Cas treks on ahead of him, carrying the mother of all axes. Sam went into town to buy food, presents and decorations, leaving Kevin, Dean and Cas in charge of finding a tree. Since the local tree lots apparently have nothing ‘good enough’, they’re forced to do all the ‘hack work’ as it were. The only consolation, Dean supposes, is that at least he still gets to violently murder something, even if it is just a stupid tree. Kevin brings up the rear, tripping in the snow and trying to keep up.

“I get that Cas and Sam want to find the perfect tree for the perfect Christmas, and that sounds great, but why am _I_ here?” He complains, his breath billowing out around his head.

“Because _someone_ has to help us drag this mother back once we cut it down.” Dean answers. _And I am not about to suffer alone, out here, in the snow. And the cold. No way. You’re gonna have to suffer with me._

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna be completely useless unless I spontaneously develop super-strength or telekinesis.”

“Stop whining.” Cas shouts over his shoulder. “Dean’s doing enough of that.”

“I’m not whining.” Dean whines.

And shit, Cas has already mastered Sam’s best bitch-face. He turns back around to keep walking forward and nearly runs into what turns out to be ‘the perfect tree’. It’s fat at the bottom and not (completely) lopsided, and probably like ten feet tall. Dean lets all hell loose on it, and pretty soon they’re dragging it back through the woods, with Kevin once again behind them, falling on his face every so often, which hey, kind of cheers Dean up a little. The best part, though, is seeing the light turn on in Cas’s eyes when the prophet finally gives up and just rolls over on his back, fanning his arms and legs out in the sparkling snow.

“Come on man, no time for snow angels.” Dean hollers.

“Snow... angels?” If Cas was a puppy, Dean could imagine his ears perking up.

“Yeah, Cas, snow angels.” Suddenly there is time. “See?” He grabs his best friend by the wrist and pulls him down to the ground. They end up right near each other, and Dean shows him how to pull his arms right up over his head to make the wings as big as he can get them. And he’s laughing, because he genuinely can’t remember the last time he made a snow angel (if ever) and it’s some of the most fun he’s ever had that doesn’t involve getting drunk or naked.

“Now what?” Cas asks him when he realises they’ve been just laying there, staring into the sky. Dean wonders if it’s painful for Cas, looking up, knowing what’s there and not being able to _go_ anymore.

“Now we get up. Carefully.” He stands slowly, trying not to ruin the near flawless imprint he’s left. He digs his feet into the ground and reaches for Cas’s hand, and then pulls the former angel to his feet. He doesn’t account for the extra weight, though, and they both fall down again, Dean on his ass and Cas on his knees, almost straddling him. He can feel the warmth of Cas’s breath on his face, and he suspects that his cheeks aren’t just red from the cold.

“It was my job to protect her.” Cas says suddenly.

“What?”

“The Virgin Mary. Our garrison was assigned to watch over her during her pregnancy. I was there, that night, the night she gave birth. I was the-” his voice falls to a whisper; as if this whole story is a secret that God himself ordered should never be told. “I was the star that shone over the birthplace of Christ.”

“Wow.” Dean breathes, thinking about how stupid that sounds, how ‘wow’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. What do you say to a star? What do you say to possibly the most important star of all time?

“ _Wow_.”

“It was an honour, to bear witness to the beginning of such a life. To watch over one of the most important infants in human history.”

“One of the...?” who’s more important to heaven than the son of God?

“It wasn’t announced to many, but I was sent to watch over another Mary, who had no idea that she would give birth to not one, but _two_ saviours.”

“Oh my _God_.” Dean can only think of his mother, and a star shining through the nursery window of their old house.

_Angels are watching over you._

“Now, when _you_ were born, that was a party I remember quite well.”

That should be weird. It kind of is. But it should also be really _really_ weird, and it isn’t. And then Dean is completely aware of how close Cas is, of how much closer they’re getting, and of how often he’s glancing down at the other man’s lips. And how much he really isn’t cold anymore and really wouldn’t mind kissing Cas right here in the middle of the woods.

And then Kevin comes barrelling out from behind the felled tree and shouts mockingly:

“Hey guys, no time for snow ang- what are you doing over there?”

“Nothing.” Dean coughs, slipping deftly out of Cas’s reach and scrambling not so deftly to his feet. “Let’s get out of here, it’s freakin’ _freezing_.” Although his blood is pumping fast enough to keep his cheeks just a little pink all the way back home.

* * *

The next day goes by in a whirlwind. By eight o’clock on Christmas Eve, the bunker in unrecognisable. It looks like something out a Martha Stewart Christmas catalogue, and Dean is secretly very pleased. There are gold and red garlands covered in holly and tinsel winding down the railings of the stairs from the front door into the map room, where the tree is (they needed a high ceiling). Sam bought the mother lode of lights, the thing is like a frickin’ lighthouse right in the middle of the floor. There are about a thousand different baubles hung on the branches; red ones, green ones, a few blue and purple ones even, most of them painted with gold and silver snowflakes. And then of course there are candy canes everywhere too. Stockings have been put up over the fireplace in the den. At the bottom of the tree there are a couple piles of wrapped gifts- Dean finds himself getting excited, and he thinks that maybe he finally knows how kids feel on days like these.

Poinsettias. Sam apparently has a poinsettia obsession; Dean called it a fetish and nearly got stabbed- there’s at least one plant of every table in the place. The floors have been swept and the shelves and books and boxes in the library are all dusted (Kevin’s been at it for like three hours).

Now they’re all kicking back, drinking hot chocolate (because it’s only three in the afternoon and _apparently_ too early for the spiked eggnog) and appreciating their work. The whole room smells like pine and peppermint, and Dean is finally in the Christmas spirit. Suddenly he knows why people like to pretend that everything’s okay. And maybe it’s not so much pretending as it is the fact that Christmas, being with family, it makes things suck a little bit less.

“We’re missing something.” Sam says. “Where’s the tree topper?”

“You bought two; we weren’t sure which one you wanted to use.” Kevin answers. “There’s the twelve point star and the-” he looks sideways at a very mesmerised Cas- “angel.”

Once again, Cas snaps his head around at lightning speed.

“Angel? Do people usually put angels on top of their Christmas trees?”

“Hell if I know,” Dean shrugs. “This is the first time I’ve ever had a real tree with a real topper.”

“We can use the star, if the angel thing bugs you, Cas.” Sam offers.

“It’d make me feel better.” Dean chimes in. “They’re all a bunch of dicks anyway.”

Sam shoots him a glare and then looks over to their own (fallen) angel, who is staring at the top of the tree, lost in thought.

“We could put _you_ up there Cas- ain’t nothin’ like the real thing.” Dean jokes.

Cas chuckles.

“Where is it? The angel?” He wonders a moment later.

“Here.” Kevin says, reaching over to the empty boxes of decorations and pulling out the ornament. It’s about eight inches tall, the sculpted image of neither a man nor a woman, with long blond hair and an intricate golden halo that looks more like a crown. Its silvery-white wings stretch out behind it as if it’s in flight, arms held out as if to embrace someone. Its robes are red and white, and Dean wonders if that’s what angels usually wear- he tries to imagine Cas in all his holy glory and falls short of finding more than glimpses of the first time he every saw his saviour, flashing lights and beating wings struggling through the deepest parts of hell to grab hold of him. He looks at the human being, the angel, the _star_ standing next to him and wonders how he could have ever ended up having Christmas with the Winchesters.

“This is beautiful.” Cas mumbles, turning the decoration over in his hands “Fairly inaccurate, but still beautiful.” He turns to Sam. “May I?”

“Yeah Cas, go ahead.”

Cas approaches the tree, pulling a chair up next to it and climbing up. He reaches as far as he can, teetering on the tips of his toes to reach the top. Dean looks on, still in awe of the fragile thing the man before him has become. When the angel is on and Cas comes back down and rejoins them, there are tears in his eyes.

“Is it okay?” Sam asks. Cas smiles.

“It’s _perfect_.”

* * *

At about two AM on Christmas morning, Dean is awoken by a loud **_BANG!_** and someone swearing. He jumps out of bed in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, taking the pistol from under his pillow and running in the direction of the noise. When he gets to the map room, Sam is already there, also armed and on high alert. Cas, wrapped in a blanket, stumbles in from the living room, where he had fallen asleep on the couch after they watched _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on TV (Cas finally understands the nickname ‘Clarence’). They flip the lights on, looking around for what appears to be nothing, until-

“HO HO HO, Merry Christmas, _bitches_!”

“ _Charlie_?” Sam calls, lowering his gun.

“Who else?” Charlie answers.

There she is, parading down the stairs, dressed in, of course, a Santa costume (and not the fat suit kind), carrying a sack of something and smiling like, well, a kid on Christmas morning. Dean cranes his neck and sees golden light getting cut off by the closing of a door. And then Dorothy appears, looking exactly like she did when she left, except she’s wearing a Santa hat with her Indiana Jones getup.

“Hey, long time no see.” Sam smiles warmly, hugging Charlie and then Dorothy as they reach the bottom of the stairs. Dorothy turns to Dean and smiles.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey Dorothy, how’s it-” and then Charlie practically pounces on him, hugging him ‘till he can’t catch his breath, and even though he feels like he may be dreaming, he’s just happy to see her alright and here. On _Christmas_.

“So, you gonna introduce me to who I’m assuming can only be the former angel of the Lord known as Castiel?” Charlie elbows Dean in the ribs “Ah, the books painted an excellent picture- I was right- _dreamy_.”

Cas is still standing in the doorway, silent, and, from the looks of it, more than a little confused. He looks at Charlie, then at Dorothy, then at Dean, squinting in question.

“Uh, yeah okay. Cas, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Cas.”

“Hello Charlie, it’s nice to meet you.” Cas says politely if not exhaustedly, just like Dean taught him to do. Charlie takes his hand and then pulls him in for a hug. Dean laughs, because Cas goes stiff as a board- no one taught him what to do when a stranger bursts into your home at two in the morning on Christmas day and hugs you.

“Sorry,” Charlie apologises, pulling away. “It’s just, I read Chuck’s books, big fan, and I feel like I already know you. Dean talks about you a lot.”

“I do not.”

Charlie gives him, yes, the bitch-face. Cas just looks even more confused.

“Go back to bed, man, get some sleep, we’ll wake you up when it’s actually a decent hour.” And he bitch-faces Charlie right back. Cas just nods, yawns, and then leaves the room without another word.

“Wait, did we miss Christmas? Rockin’ tree bee tee dubs.”

“Well only the first,” Sam makes a show of looking at his watch, pushing his fingers through his ridiculous hair, “two hours of it.”

“Oooooh. Sorry.” Charlie whispers.

“That would explain why you’re both in your underwear.” Dorothy comments.

“We were _sleeping_.” Dean retorts defensively. “ _You_ woke us up; we didn’t really have time to get _dressed_.”

“What is happening?” Kevin shouts, running into the room, also in his boxers. “Did something ha-” he stops when he sees Charlie, who, Dean will admit, looks very, shall we say, ‘ _festive_ ’.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hi.” Charlie waves.

“Charlie, this is Kevin Tran, prophet of the Lord, advanced placement. Kevin, this is Charlie, our, for lack of a better word, honorary sister.” Sam introduces them. Dean rolls his eyes at the way Kevin is staring and adds-

“Our honorary _lesbian_ sister.”

“....oh.” Kevin mutters. “Huh. Well. Nice to meet you.” He walks over and shakes her hand, looking her in the eye (Dean is very impressed).

“I’m going back to sleep. Wake me when there’s food.” He continues, turning and leaving the room with a grunt. Charlie stares after him.

“A prophet? You mean like-”

“Yeah, we’ll explain later. So, it’s good to see you, but what brings you back from the great Land of Oz?” Dean inquires.

“It’s Christmas, _duh_. I come bearing epic gifts and tidings of great joy.” Charlie beams, looking furtively at Dorothy, who smiles back sheepishly.

“ _Called it_.” Sam brags when the two of them hold hands. “You owe me twenty bucks, dude.” Charlie looks at Dean, injured.

“You didn’t think I had the _game_?”

Dean smirks.

“Nah. I didn’t think _Dorothy_ had the game.”

“Well, I _did_.” Dorothy looks very pleased with herself.

“I’m happy for you guys.” Sam grins.

“Me too. I really am, but-” Dean yawns. “It’s two in the freaking morning.”

“Then show us too our room garcon, and we will let you get back to sleep.”

They end up staying awake until four listening to Charlie talk about the things she’s seen and done and learned, and almost nothing could make Dean happier.

* * *

At ten thirty, they open presents.

Sam gets a book from Kevin (nerd), another book from Cas (nerrrrd) and an awesome coin from Charlie that she apparently stole off some creep in Oz. Dean gives him a goofy Christmas sweater covered in reindeer, which the dork obviously loved.

To Kevin, Sam gives _another_ dictionary of obscure languages.

"The kid already has six, Sammy. Do you really wanna be the guy who brings it up to seven?"

“Dude, this one has both formal and informal forms of-”

“Does it _look_ like I care?”

Dean and Cas give him video games, on the condition that he let them play too if the occasion called for it. Charlie digs a cool insect in a jar out of her bag of tricks. Kevin rolls his eyes when she tells him where it’s from, but after Dean and Sam explain the situation, he seems a lot more interested. He also keeps asking Dorothy questions about her dad’s books, which very nearly drive her up a wall.

Dean himself receives a new pair of boots and a lock pick from Sam. _This guy and his practical gifts._

“Completely missing the point of Christmas. Shameful.” Dean mocks, earning him the merriest of bitch-faces (it’s hard to look intimidating when you’re wearing a gaudy reindeer sweater).

Kevin gives him an old photo of Henry Winchester that he’d found while cataloguing the Men of Letters’ member archives. Dean is very quiet for a while after that.

Kevin digs up some old Enochian script for Cas and Sam gives him a gun.

“See, now _there’s_ a practical present I can appreciate. Did he get me a gun? No, course not.”

“Dean, you have six already. I didn’t want to be the guy who brought it up to seven.” This time it’s Sam who gets a bitch-face, perhaps the most intense bitch-face of all time.

Charlie gets it right and gives Dean a knife. It’s ornate but solid- the handle is wood and steel braided together, and the blade is covered in carvings of what look like one of the languages in the dictionary that Sam gave Kevin.

“Lemme guess, it belonged to the wicked witch.” Kevin enthuses.

“The witch is dead.” Dorothy sighs, just a little frustrated. “This knife belonged to the king of the flying monkeys.”

“Really?”

“No. We disarmed a gang of thugs and took it from them. The knife has no significance whatsoever.” She explains. Kevin frowns.

“Still awesome.” Dean smiles. “I love Christmas.”

Charlie even has something for Cas. It’s a chain, taken from the neck of the same thug that had the knife. It’s silver, but when Cas puts it over his head, it turns a dark and rich blue. Charlie tells him that the chain senses the kind of soul the person wearing it has- something like auras. Blue means that he is outwardly stoic but inwardly full of turmoil. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard him described better. Cas thanks Charlie profusely, which of course tickles her pink.

Cas gives Dean a bracelet. It’s after everyone had finished presenting and opening their gifts, and are busy sticking bows to their shirts and foreheads and each other’s backs.

“Here you go Dean,” Cas hands him a small wooden box. Dean lifts the lid and pulls out a leather band, with symbols burned- branded- into the outside. Dean vaguely remembers Cas stealing his lighter a few weeks ago, his lighter and- his lock pick. That’s why he said to Sam that he needed another one.

“You did this yourself, Cas?” Dean whispers in awe, recognising the symbols as Enochian. “What does it say?”

“It says ‘Dean Winchester is saved’.” Cas whispers back. Dean kind of has to clear his throat. He runs his fingers over the soft material again, and flips it over to tie it onto his wrist, when-

A handprint. There’s a handprint there, seared into the leather. And next to it, what looks to be another symbol.

“What does that mean?” He points, his voice nearly failing him.

“I can’t tell you. Not now. Someday, maybe.” Cas’s voice is failing him too.

“I uh, I have something for you too. I mean it’s not as cool as this, but-” He grabs a book off the table. It’s leather bound and has pockets on the inside and is full of blank pages.

“My dad had a journal, you know the one. He didn’t just put stuff about monsters in there though, he wrote about his life. I never kept one, and too much has happened for me to start now, but I though _you_ should have this- you know, to write down your own story, the stuff you learn, places you go, people you meet- although I guess you’ve seen way more shit than I have-”

“Dean, thank-you.” Cas cuts off Dean’s rambling with his quiet gratitude. There’s a brief moment where Dean feels the same way he did yesterday in the woods next to the perfect tree and the snow angels.

But then of course Kevin and Charlie yell,

“So when’s dinner?”

* * *

Dean ends up cooking. He doesn’t mind, and he’s actually fairly good at it. Sam bought a beast of a bird, and even though it reminds him of the turducken incident, he’s still really hungry. The turkey has been gutted and stuffed and is currently roasting- there’s corn and peas on the stove, cranberries in the fridge, and he’s currently making apple pie because it wouldn’t be real Christmas without the pie his mom used to make him when he was little.

_Angels are watching over you._

_"I was sent to watch over another Mary, who had no idea that she would give birth to not one, but two saviours.”_

“Don’t cry you wuss, you’ll get tears in the crust.” He hisses to himself, blinking back tears. The holidays are turning him into such a sap, it’s pathetic.

“Hey, Dean, you gotta see this.” Sam is in the doorway, still wrapped in his ugly sweater and wearing what is probably Dorothy’s Santa hat.

“And bring me some more eggnog!” Cas yells after that, his voice carrying all the way from the map room to the kitchen. Sam laughs heartily as he walks off down the hall. Dean chuckles. Cas is demanding and a little loud when he’s tipsy. It’s great.

He pours two glasses, one for Cas and one for himself, each with a generous amount of bourbon. He checks to make sure the timer on the oven isn’t about to go off, and then he wanders towards the group, pausing in the archway of the library, standing under the mistletoe that Charlie hung, just to ‘get caught’ under it with Dorothy half a dozen times.

“You really don’t need an excuse to kiss your girlfriend in front of us.” Dean had said at one point. Sam actually smacked him for that one, although he genuinely didn’t mean it as an innuendo. He’s genuinely thrilled that Charlie is happy. She’s family. It’s all he wants really- to see his family happy. It’s a nice thing to get for Christmas.

 _Jesus, you are such a freakin’ sap_ , he tells himself.

But everyone looks happy. The only light in the room is from the tree- it’s warm and inviting and yeah okay maybe it’s a little but magical. They’re all crowded together for some reason, and he guesses it’s because of the thing Sammy wanted him to see. But from what he can tell, they’re smiling, and sometimes laughing, and they all just look _happy_.

“Dean! Check it out!” Charlie exclaims, stepping back so he can see what they’re all crowded around.

Cas has a halo.

Dean nearly drops the glasses right then and there. Everyone moves away, and it’s cheesy as hell but it’s like Cas is standing and the end of an aisle in candlelight and he’s looking at Dean and he’s freaking _glowing_.

“What-”

“It’s the chain Charlie gave him.” Sam says. “He took it off and when it went past his head it started to shine. So he just left it there, how cool is that?”

Dean is still staring at Cas. The silvery-bluish light is radiating off of him, through his perfect messy hair and across his face- his cheeks are a little flushed and he’s looking right back at Dean like he did when he got the journal earlier- and then Cas walks up to him and takes the glass from his hand, drinking gratefully.

“Do angels even have halos?” Dean breathes once words return to him. Cas just smirks.

“No, not exactly. The ‘halo’ light often depicted in religious paintings is actually the glow of an angel’s grace that’s sometimes visible to humans, it just looks like a-” and as he’s speaking he glances up.

Dean is suddenly acutely aware of everyone looking at him, and he remembers that he actually forgot that they are standing right smack in the center of the arch, under the-

“Mistletoe!” Charlie squeaks gleefully.

And finally, finally, _finally_ , Dean can kiss Cas in peace. The glasses smash, but hey, it’s worth it, because finally, finally, _finally_ , he can touch Cas’s hair. He does what he’s been dreaming about doing for God knows how long, twisting his hands into it and none too chastely pulling their mouths together. Stupid and sappy, but Cas tastes like Christmas, like eggnog and peppermint and cold December air. The kiss may just knock the wind out of him and then Cas is tilting his head, his hands crawling up Dean’s back and fisting the material of his shirt between his shoulder blades, and Dean remembers just exactly who he’s kissing. He’s not just kissing Cas, the _newly human_ Cas, he’s kissing his best friend, his saviour, his angel, the star that has shined over the birthplace of the son of god himself. And that star is kissing him back.

And when the kiss breaks and they are gasping for air against each other’s lips and Sam is laughing and saying “It’s about damn time”, Cas whispers something that nearly gets lost in the beat of Dean’s heart as it pounds on his eardrums.

“What was that?” He gasps.

“It’s the word on the bracelet, the one I wouldn’t tell you the meaning of.” Cas mumbles, hooking his fingers into the band around Dean’s wrist. “It’s the closest word in Enochian to _beloved_. Also I may or may not have walked over here on purpose so you would kiss me.”

“If you wanted me to kiss you, Cas, you could have told me what it meant sooner.” Dean is grinning from ear to ear now, and yes there are tears in his eyes but it’s Christmas dammit. _Real Christmas_. He’s not pretending. And everything is _fine_.

 

 


End file.
